


choosing my confessions

by scheherazade



Category: Japanese Actor RPF, Tenimyu RPF
Genre: M/M, Off Broadway Musical "Bare" 2020, XOX (Band) - Freeform, dragging senpai like a sled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: "I think we can drop the formalities, don't you? Considering our mutual friend is under the impression that we're gonna be dropping more than just formalities by the end of the night."
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Ohkubo Shoutarou/Ohsumi Yuuta
Kudos: 1





	choosing my confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acchikocchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/gifts).



> i wrote this while listening to r.e.m. and kikuchi takuya covers on repeat so honestly idek

"Shou-chan! There you are!"

On paper, Yasui Kazuma is the perfect idol: cool, handsome, tall but not freakishly so, charming enough to set him apart from the dime-a-dozen industry wannabes, and talented but not _so_ talented that agents feel a need to subtly mess with his head every now and then to keep him from growing impatient with the bullshit machineries of talent agencies and striking out on his own as a serious career actor.

That's just on paper. Or in photos. Because as soon as Kazuma opens his mouth in any unscripted situation you realize that underneath the foxy facade he's a gullible little marshmallow, which is a shame and also the opposite of conducive to long-term success in this business. But in the meantime, that face does make up for a multitude of sins.

For example: a moment after using a nickname that Shoutarou in no way remembers authorizing him to use, Kazuma all but teleports to his side—no small task, given the noise and general mayhem that is any and every after-party, and the Bare cast are particularly chaotic tonight. Or maybe it's just him. Not that it excuses Kazuma. If he were a girl and a year or two older, this behavior could appropriately be termed as desperate. Some manager probably trained it out of him before rebranding him as the idol he is today, but Shoutarou is willing to bet honest money that as a teenager Kazuma was prone to giggling. A lot.

_You're a real party-pooper, you know that, Ohkubo?_

It bothers him that lately his conscience has started to sound like Shihou in a huffy mood. It's probably because Shihou is the only friend he has with anything resembling a conscience. Come to that, Shihou might be the only friend he has, period. 

_For the love of god, will you snap out of it?_

Shoutarou puts away his phone and accepts the slightly tipsy hug that Kazuma insists on giving him. "Here I am, indeed. Now the party can really get started, huh?"

And there—there's the moment where Kazuma instinctively wants to giggle—Shoutarou can practically _hear_ it—but training kicks in and makes him grin and sling an arm around Shoutarou's shoulders, posed fanservice for an audience that couldn't give less of a damn. Makes a person wonder not whether but _when_ Kazuma last kissed a boy with no one else watching.

"Doesn't count as a party if you're not having fun." Kazuma sounds very convinced of his own logic. He steers Shoutarou away from the unobtrusive corner and into the noise. "Anyway, there's someone I want you to meet!"

Oh boy. "Kazuma, not that I don't appreciate you being a—" well, _good_ would be overselling it, "—wingman, but you know that Yuka-chan isn't actually looking for anything—"

"Who said anything about Yuka? Hey, Yuuta!"

—and. Wait. What? 

Kazuma grins in a way that would be smug on someone less excitable as Shoutarou blinks at the person— _wow_ does he have a face that screams, _Hi, I was born to be an idol_ —who turns around at Kazuma's voice and then, very pointedly, gives Shoutarou a blatant once-over. Which.

"Kazuma?"

"Yuuta," says the criminal responsible for this situation, completely ignoring the way Shoutarou is trying to stab him in the kidney with his elbow, "this is Ohkubo Shoutarou, the most excellent Peter that I told you to come see but which you didn't, so you'll never really understand just how much we rocked it. Shoutarou, this is Ohsumi Yuuta. He's an idiot who can't remember dates, but he has other good qualities as I'm sure he can tell you himself."

"I do remember dates, Kazuma," Ohsumi says drily. "But the date you gave me happened to conflict with my own work commitments and, as much as I love you, it's not like I can drop _everything_ just to come see you."

"Known some people who'd do that for their friends," Shoutarou comments, and watches Ohsumi's eyes narrow a fraction of a millimeter. Huh. An idol with a face _and_ a finely tuned sense of self-preservation. Shoutarou files that away for later. "Those friendships tend to blow up pretty spectacularly, though, so gotta agree with Ohsumi-kun here: do not recommend putting bros before shows."

Ohsumi guffaws, that's the only word to describe the sound he makes. Kazuma rolls his eyes but still looks far too pleased with whatever he thinks is happening here. "I'll leave you to it," he says like that's a thing people actually still say, out loud, in this day and age, and good god this really is happening to him, isn't it? He, Ohkubo Shoutarou, just got set up by a secret marshmallow.

And the thing is, Ohsumi—isn't hideous. Which means jack shit, because since when did people with smirky faces go for people who are going to look baby enough to play Peters until they're about forty-five. Life really isn't fair. 

"So. Ohkubo-san." Ohsumi drags the syllables of his name out long enough for Kazuma to vanish amongst the rest of the party. "Kazuma's been talking my ear off about you."

"I think we can drop the formalities, don't you? Considering our mutual friend is under the impression that we're gonna be dropping more than just formalities by the end of the night."

Ohsumi really does have a completely un-idolish laugh. But, again, the face makes up for vast multitudes of sin. Shoutarou tries not to feel bitter about it.

"Yeah, well." Ohsumi snickers. "Kazuma's great, you know? But he's a couple clues short of a case closed, and these kinda clues are the ones that tend to go right over his pretty head."

"And what kind of clues might these be, exactly?"

"Well, I can only speak for myself." Ohsumi watches him in a way that's more assessing than amused. "Just because someone is open-minded doesn't mean they're always looking to have new ideas, you know? But then again. Now and again, curiosity does tend to strike."

Thirty out of thirty-one days of the month Shoutarou would have rolled his eyes at the euphemisms trying to pass muster as clever conversation. It's just his luck—not really sure whether good or bad—that Ohsumi happened to catch him on the one day he's inclined to listen and maybe get a euphemistic idea or two. Because that's the thing about complete strangers. Even if they have smirky faces that more likely than don't hide rat bastard personalities on the inside, as long as they're strangers, Shoutarou doesn't have to stick around for the inevitable unmasking and collapsing of whatever illusions he might have held about the kind of person or friend they were supposed to be.

"What're you drinking?" he asks. Ohsumi's assessing look morphs into anticipation, and that's it, really—that's the ballgame right there.

Or it should have been. Except what Ohsumi says next, in complete contradiction to the way he's now looking at Shoutarou, is, 

"I'm not. No offense meant to you or anyone here, but I don't know half these people and while I'm sure they're all great and you'll always hold a special magical place in each others' hearts thanks to this shared experience—the magic bubble doesn't include me, you know?"

A beat. 

"You could have just said soda."

"You know where they're keeping the soft drinks?"

"There's a cooler around here somewhere."

Ohsumi makes a grandiose gesture. "Please. Lead the way."

It doesn't take long to track down a can of soda. It takes slightly longer to find one that hasn't already been opened and doctored with some nameless alcohol that you'd really be better off not tasting at all if you can help it. Ohsumi raises an eyebrow when Shoutarou passes on both mystery mix and beer in favor of an oolong tea.

"I don't know you either," Shoutarou reminds him. "Seems only fair."

"That it would seem." Ohsumi himself seems more agreeable with a can of orange soda in his hands. He slouches against the wall in a way that does nothing to diminish his height. "I think I might have lied earlier, though."

"About what? You said quite a few things."

"I do know you. Or, I mean, I know _of_ you." Ohsumi just cocks his head at the sharp look that gets him. "You're Umi-chan's senpai. You're _that_ Shoutarou-san." He adds almost as an afterthought, "Wow, turns out I trust him more than Kazuma. Huh."

It takes Shoutarou a second to connect the dots from "Umi-chan" to "Oohara Kaiki" to "Tenimyu" and _that_ immediately brings back the memory of the last time he'd actually talked to Kaiki for more than two seconds over social media. The grimace must show on his face, because Ohsumi's brow crinkles.

"Umi-chan thinks you're the shit, you know. No need to go bursting the guy's bubble if you don't like him as much as he likes you."

"You don't know me well enough to be saying that kinda shit."

"Am I wrong, though?"

"Yeah, actually." Shoutarou doesn't really care to examine what it says about himself that verbally smacking someone is probably the most satisfaction he's felt in a while. "I got nothing against Kaiki and frankly, I wish he'd been in _my_ Seiru cast given he can actually carry a tune without needing a second bucket and an insurance policy." Getting a snicker out of Ohsumi is apparently also satisfying. "It just made me remember some shit about the disaster carousel that was the whole tennis thing, so you can put the white knight costume away. Umi-chan's role model illusions are safe."

"I never said he looked up to you." It's a half-hearted parry at best. Ohsumi apparently has a nose for scenting out real gossip, and he's also not above straight up asking, "So what kinda shit went down with your team? Trade you anything you wanna know about what's current."

"Okay, we really don't know each other well enough to be doing this."

"Oh, come on. Tennis gossip is like the lingua fracas of showbiz—"

"Lingua franca?"

"—potato, potahto. Anyway, my crew's got running bets on at least three different people from the last two casts having a meltdown before their twenty-fifth birthdays."

"You one of them?"

"Passed that landmark today, actually."

"Congratulations. And happy birthday."

"Thank you." Ohsumi is genuinely grinning now, wired as a kid on Christmas morning. "C' _mon_ , Ohkubo. Even if you don't want goss for goss's sake, it's gotta be useful to know which of the competition's gonna be dropping out because they only realized they were claustrophobic after locking themselves in a closet."

" _That's_ what you wanna talk shit about? At the after-party of a musical about how being closeted can literally kill a person?"

"I thought it was the priest's fault that Kazuma's character died."

"Kazuma doesn't have even a single clue if he thought this was a good idea." Shoutarou puts down his half-empty drink. "Nice to meet you. I'm gonna call it a night."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait up. Hey, wait, seriously—" Ohsumi makes a placating gesture when Shoutarou glares at him. "I'm not trying to pick a fight or anything. I say shit sometimes without thinking it all the way through. That's my bad. I didn't mean anything hurtful to you or your friends."

And that's just the cherry on top. Or maybe the proverbial straw. "What do you know about me or my _friends_ , Ohsumi?" Fuck this guy, seriously. Fuck him and his and anyone else's assumptions about how or where Shoutarou's moral compass points.

"I only know what I know, yeah?" What Ohsumi doesn't know is when to give up. "And I know Kazuma's not actually a bad guy, whatever little game he's playing by introducing us. Like, he wouldn't intentionally try to hurt you or anything. From everything he's said, he genuinely respects you as a person. So I just figured you were, you know..."

The shrug is elliptical and eloquent. "Like you?"

"Yeah. I mean, otherwise Kazuma would kinda be a dick."

"What, because any gay boy would definitely have caught feelings for you by now? You're shockingly full of hot air for someone who disappears when he turns sideways."

"I happen to be lithe, not skinny, and I'll thank you not to judge before you've seen me in a suit."

"You can't have it both ways, Ohsumi."

"Wasn't trying to." His expression turns sober again. "I'm just saying, I'm sorry if I offended you. You obviously don't think much of me, but I'm not that kinda guy. Honest."

He's not lying, is the thing. Oh, Shoutarou's heard his share of sincere-sounding promises and apologies that meant fuck all when push came to shove. But despite the fact that Ohsumi has nothing to gain by being honest—or maybe because of that, because of the corollary being that he has nothing to lose either—Shoutarou is dead certain that Ohsumi actually means it. And that doesn't track with his earlier assessment of the guy. 

Then again, it's entirely possible that Shoutarou's snap judgements about people have never been that accurate. It's just hard to be wrong when most of those snap judgements are based on the probability that desperate, idealistic actors sacrificing their youth upon the altar of The Dream™ do tend to be cast from the same pitiable mold. The few times he actually decided to believe in his fellow man's better nature, well—look where that's gotten him.

There are plenty of people who routinely leave him on read and reply a day or a week later. There are people that Shoutarou has left on read himself, because as much as he'd like to be practically perfect in every way, even he has limits. As it turns out, one of those limits has to do with how far he's willing to let Jinnai Shou stretch his forgiveness. And it is forgiveness, straight up. Not patience or understanding or whatever else it might have been when Shoutarou was fifteen or twenty-one and still believed it when Jinnai said things like _Did you know, blood's thicker than water actually means your chosen loyalties are more important than familial ties,_ and _Yeah, of course I'll see you next week,_ and _I know we're not actually related or anything, but in all the ways that matter—and in the only ways that really matter—you're the little brother I never had._

And what ways could it possibly matter, when Jinnai can never seem to find the time of day for him. Not the way Jinnai does for other people he cares about. Not even for this big moment in Shoutarou's career—a real leading role in a real production, the kind of thing that Shoutarou has told him time and again is what he ultimately wants to do—and it stings that much more because it's _Jinnai_ , because he's the one person who's supposed know just how much this means to his friend.

But maybe he'd overestimated even that. Maybe they'd never been friends, not in any way that mattered. Maybe he really didn't get it, and that's why there's a Line message on his phone marked read, three weeks ago, with no reply.

 _hey you!!_ Shoutarou had typed cheerfully. _when you coming to see my show??_

Maybe he should have mentioned that he'd gotten a couple tickets, just for this. The material offer should have been enough to guilt-trip Jinnai into at least admitting that he had no intention of coming, since they both knew he didn't have a schedule conflict that night. He hadn't mentioned it because he hadn't thought he needed to. He ended up giving the tickets to Yuka and Kazuma to invite their friends and family. 

Kazuma had been entirely too excited to get the extra tickets, come to think of it. He'd nattered on all through dress rehearsal about some friend or other he'd been trying to drag to the show, but he'd already promised all his tickets to family and some people his manager said he should invite, which was a real bummer, but now he had an extra—and for one of _their_ performances!—he could definitely invite his own friend and his friend would even get to see _Shoutarou_ instead of Tamura who, frankly, is a little too old for the whole thing to look believable—

Come to think of it, that friend must've been Ohsumi. Which.

"I don't know Kazuma as well as you," Shoutarou says slowly. "Like you said, he's a nice guy, if not the sharpest. I mean, couple weeks ago he made Miyaji and half the band leave rehearsal with him and Akane because he didn't want to impugn a girl's dignity walking her to the station by himself. What makes you think _that_ guy is playing indirect gay chicken with you by dangling someone like me as bait?"

"I mean, I'm not saying it isn't messed up. But it always kinda is when you've known someone as long as I've known him—industry years are like dog years, and when you've been alternating between trying to kill each other and crying into each others' shoulders…" Ohsumi shrugs. "This wouldn't be the weirdest thing he's done to try to catch me out, is all I'm saying."

"And all I'm saying is, there are definitely easier targets."

"Did I say I wanted easy?"

"Has it occured to you," Shoutarou says instead of answering the question, which was obviously rhetorical anyway, "that maybe Kazuma is just trying to be a good wingman to his bro, because that's what he thinks you are?"

Ohsumi scoffs at the idea. "Please. Do I look like I need a wingman?"

And Shoutarou—is absolutely not answering that, either. "Are you sure you guys are friends?"

"Well, I don't know what else you'd call it." The eye roll that gets him makes Ohsumi grin for some reason. "It's showbiz, y'know? Everyone's your friend right up until the moment they stab you in the back. But the feeling's completely mutual, so can't really complain."

"Not saying there aren't those types and plenty of them, but stick around long enough and you'll find that people usually just aren't smart enough to be that devious. Mostly they just disappoint you in completely predictable ways."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Best believe it. I've been doing this since you were four years old."

"And at the time you were…?"

"Also four." He raises an eyebrow at the look on Ohsumi's face. "Surprised?"

"Not in a bad way. Just assumed you had to be older, the way Umi-chan goes on about you. But I guess game recognize game, huh?"

"I don't know if you can call what he's got _game_. How's he doing anyway? You guys are on the last musical now, right?"

"Yeah. It's pretty funny watching some people catch feelings now that it's about to be all over, but otherwise it's just standard issue shenanigans." Ohsumi gives him a sideways glance, clearly asking. _Change your mind about that gossip yet?_

Shoutarou is only human. "You know Nakagauchi? You must. They ask him back to guest and mentor all the time."

"Masa-san? Yeah, I know him."

"What do you think of him?"

"I suppose that depends." Ohsumi returns Shoutarou's blank look with a serene one. "As a dutiful kouhai, I think it's flattering he took the time out of his busy schedule to get to know us kids and give something back to the production, elder statesman style."

"Uh-huh. And as someone who wasn't born yesterday?"

"I think there's a technical term for being that hung up on past glories."

"Yeah, I'm sure the glorious nature of the production back then is what he's hung up on."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Ohkubo-san. It seems crass to actually admit out loud that we both think our mutual friend would've been a shoo-in for the role of Jason were he five years younger and ten times better at acting."

He can't explain it, but that's just the way it goes sometimes. Of all the douchey, off-hand snark that Ohsumi has said, this is what makes Shoutarou burst out laughing. And judging by the pleased look in Ohsumi's eyes, he'd actually put some effort into this. Shoutarou isn't self-centered enough to think the effort was for _him_ necessarily, but still. It's kind of nice to be the center of someone's attention when he's wearing his own clothes and starring in his own life as himself.

Shihou would smack him if he could hear Shoutarou right now. Just yesterday he'd turned down yet another offer from Shihou to take him out drinking somewhere where he could have all the attention he wanted. But Shihou would forgive him. Shihou always does.

Shoutarou has had cause to reflect that it's something of a miracle he ended up with a friend like Shihou when he's done exactly nothing to deserve anything of the sort. He's been thinking about it a lot this past week. Maybe because Shihou had actually come to the show. Shihou had made time to see the show and cried so much his face was still blotchy red when he came backstage and hugged Shoutarou hard enough to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. And if Shoutarou had hugged him back just as hard, well—it's not like Shihou's about to run and blab about it. 

"Kazuma was real surprised when they had him read for Jason, you know," Ohsumi says conversationally. "He thought Matt was about as much as he could handle for a musical debut. Good thing his manager's not above twisting some arms for publicity, including his."

"I auditioned for Matt," Shoutarou admits.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They told me I was too short for the role."

"I could see that, actually."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I mean, I can see you as Matt." And there's that honesty thing again. "Not like there's anything in the script that says Matt actually has to be tall. Is there?"

"It's implied. Hetero boyfriend characters are like roller coasters: minimum height requirement to come aboard."

That makes Ohsumi snort in a totally unattractive manner, and it makes Shoutarou like him a little bit more. Because apparently there really is no accounting for taste. But all things considered, it could be a lot worse.

Ohsumi says, "Roller coasters are overrated, if you ask me."

"Not that curious about amusement park rides?"

"Eh. Been there, done that. Just one of those things that sounds like fun when you're ten because you don't know any better and everyone else is doing it. Doesn't live up to the hype."

"You're something else, you know that?"

"Thank you." He actually sounds pleased, is the worst/best part. "You're not bad yourself."

Shoutarou has to admit—no getting around it, at this point—that for a soft, gullible marshmallow, Kazuma probably has every right to be pleased with himself and what he managed to pull off tonight, whatever his relationship with Ohsumi actually is, and whatever his actual motivations might have been.

"You wanna get out of here?" he hears himself ask, certain that Ohsumi's going to say—

"You wanna come see the tennis musical next week?"

—which. "What?"

"Not saying no to your question," Ohsumi amends, a tad too quickly for the cool demeanor he's obviously cultivated for years. "Just thought I'd get that out there. You know, if you're free." A pause. "I mean, you'd make Umi-chan's day."

"You asking for Umi-chan or someone else?"

"I guess that depends on your answer."

And that's really not what Shoutarou bargained for, at all, though maybe he'd misjudged the guy on that count, too. Maybe this is why Ohsumi and Kazuma really are friends. Game recognizes game, and secret marshmallows instinctively seek out kindred spirits, however they justify it to themselves in their own head. 

"Yeah, why not," Shoutarou says. "Not averse to making someone's day."

Ohsumi has a nice smile, underneath the practiced smirk. "Let's get out of here, then."


End file.
